


I Wrote This Due To Petty Spite

by LilacMiracle



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Mental Health Issues, Minor Violence, Non-Graphic Violence, i hate that this is about real people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:35:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24254491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilacMiracle/pseuds/LilacMiracle
Summary: Jack's a psychiatrist at a hospital and Mark just got admitted bada bing bada boom we're done here
Kudos: 8





	I Wrote This Due To Petty Spite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sleightofsight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleightofsight/gifts).



> guess what bitches [@mysterio-is-the-truth](https://mysterio-is-the-truth.tumblr.com/) and i were doing a Deep Dive™ of the Mark Fischbach tag on here and i read a fic that i. did not like. at all. it was s*ptiplier, first of all, which is a big No Go, and it had a lot of ideas about mental health that were incorrect and kinda toxic. specifically, it gave Mark schizophrenia, but the author clearly didn’t understand the symptoms of schizophrenia beyond hallucinations. so i reworked that plot into something that i think is a bit more bearable. i’m not saying it’s 100% accurate, as a disclaimer, but it’s not awful, imo. anyways, i’m rambling. just don’t try to find the original fic please, bc i think that that author isn’t being purposefully toxic or anything, just ignorant.
> 
> but yeah, here’s the fic

Sean McLoughlin, or Jack, as most people called him, loved his job and hated it at the same time. He loved to help those that he could, but he hated seeing the ones that he couldn’t. Jack worked as a psychiatrist in the psych wing in a hospital in downtown LA, where there were a few long-term residents, but most came and left at a steady rate. Most came in after suicide attempts, which was ... depressing. However, after years on the job, Jack got used to it. A person could get used to anything, given enough time.

Today was just another day in the hustle and bustle of the hospital. Jack was about four hours into his twelve-hour shift, and he had a rare moment of peace and quiet to himself before he’d have to go check up on some long-term patients. Suddenly, his coworker, Dr. Ethan Nestor, walked into the break room, interrupting Jack’s well-deserved can of Vanilla Coke Zero, which had the same Coke taste with zero sugar and a hint of vanilla.

“Hey, Jack, you’ve got a new patient. He just came in a few minutes ago, and the officers told me to get whatever doctor's in charge of the patients that’re pending diagnosis.”

Ethan had a little smirk on his face, as he knew full well that there was no doctor in charge of that. He was just pawning this new patient off on Jack, not that he could blame the other man, seeing as his shift would end in about half an hour, and a new patient would keep him here a while longer. Jack sighed and glared halfheartedly over at Ethan as he tossed his half-empty soda can into the trash.

“You interrupted my break, ye fookin’ son of a bitch.”

Jack knew that Ethan was flipping him off behind his back, but he couldn’t bring himself to really care. He walked over to the desk that marked the entrance to the Psych Ward and separated it from the rest of the hospital, and the secretary manning it wordlessly handed him the file belonging to the new patient. As Jack was about to turn around towards somewhere quiet that he could read the file, he saw a familiar figure powerwalking through the hall, breezing past the Psych desk and heading towards A&E.

“OY! Henrik! We still on fer drinks tonight!?”

The other doctor, Henrik, didn’t even pause, instead turning his head slightly towards Jack to reply,

“Fuck yes, zees motherfuckers are grating on my last nerve!”

Jack laughed silently to himself at Henrik’s response as the doctor in question continued on his way. Then, Jack turned to go to the first empty room that he could find in order to read the file currently in his hand. In a few moments, he was in Room 5, which was unoccupied due to a growing superstition around it being cursed. Jack didn’t believe it, of course, but he wasn’t about to complain about it either, given that he normally had to read new files in the janitor’s closet in order to have enough quiet around him. Opening the manila folder, Jack began to read.

Name: _Mark Fischbach_

DOB: _06/28/89_

Diagnosis: _Pending_

Notes: _Patient admitted due to a court order mandating that he remain for 72 hours; plead insanity after being arrested for stabbing his brother, who may be interviewed after approval by Dr. Henrik von Schneeplestein -_

_“Ah, so that’s why he was rushing off so quickly,”_ Jack thought to himself.

_\- who is to be his primary care doctor for the duration of his hospital stay. Patient reports visual and auditory hallucinations and is prone to violent outbursts. Exercise extreme caution when in contact with him._

Of course, there was more to the file, but Jack had been a doctor long enough to know which parts that he needed to thoroughly read, and which parts he could … _skim_. The file said that Mark would be in room 13, just down the hall. Jack supposed that he should go talk to this patient, perhaps even make a preliminary diagnosis, if he was lucky. He stood up to return the file to the Psych desk, and once he’d done that, began to walk to room 13.

Jack opened the door to see Mark tapping his foot while sitting in a padded hospital chair. When the door opened, he turned, and stopped tapping his foot.

“May I sit?”

Mark nodded at Jack, who took a seat in the other chair across from Mark.

“I’m Dr. McLoughlin, but ye can call me Jack, everyone does. You go by Mark?”

Mark nodded again.

“Alright, Mark, I’m gonna be askin’ you a few questions. Is that alright wit’ you?”

Mark nodded for the third time.

“Yer file says you’ve been seein’ and hearing things?”

Mark finally spoke.

“Yes. I hear … voices, and I sometimes see their faces. I know it’s not real, but I just can’t take them sometimes!”

“What do these voices say, Mark?”

“They tell me to do things. To hurt people.”

“Have you ever listened to them?”

“Yes. They told me to hurt my brother, and I couldn’t take them anymore, so I did so they’d finally _shut up_. It’s not my fault, right?”

“No, Mark. It’s not.” Jack looked down at his watch. “I hate to cut this short, but I got other patients, so if you’ll excuse me...”

Jack stood. Mark simply watched him, waving his hand in a gesture of goodbye. Jack walked out of the room and closed the door. He sighed to himself and went to give his long-term patients their medications. Perhaps he’d catch Ethan on his way out and invite him out to drinks with himself and Henrik.

\------------------------------------line break------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jack only had 2 hours left of his shift. Once he was done, he’d go home and sleep until 10 tonight and go get slammed with Henrik and Ethan. Did he mention it was 4 AM? It was 4 AM. He was starting to feel crazier than his patients. There was no sense of time here, not really, so it’s not like people were sleeping. Oh no, that would be too easy. Instead, everyone had a slightly different circadian rhythm and nobody’s sleep schedule matched up with anyone else’s. It was a fucking nightmare, to tell the truth.

Jack passed by room 13 to see that light was streaming from under the door. Jack decided that now was as good a time as ever to talk to his new patient. So far, his working theory was schizophrenia, but a few things weren’t adding up. One more ‘conversation’ would probably confirm or deny his thoughts on the subject, so into room 13 he went.

“Hey Mark. How’re things goin’ so far?”

Mark looked up at Jack, abandoning the book that he was reading. “Fine. How about you?”

“’M tired, but I’ve been workin’ awhile. Did the voices come back?” As he said this, Jack sat in the same chair that he had 6 hours earlier.

Mark nodded. “They said to hurt someone else. They said my brother wasn’t enough. I’m just telling myself that it’s not real, and maybe it’ll stop. Because I know that they’re not real.”

Jack’s eyebrows furrowed slightly, but Mark either didn’t notice or didn’t question it. “Right. Now, Mark, d’ye know when the voices started talkin’ to you?” 

“As long as I can remember, ever since I was six years old.”

That settled Jack’s stance on the Schizophrenia theory. He stood and nodded his head towards the bed. “Get some rest, Mark.”

“Thanks. I think I will. Goodnight, Jack.”

“’Night.”

And with that, Jack left room 13 and closed the door behind him. He started towards the Psych desk to retrieve Mark’s file, so he could put in his preliminary diagnosis. Whoever was gonna be on staff after him could deal with Mark after that. The secretary at the desk, a different one this time, gave him Mark’s folder and paper and pen when he asked. He could, of course, type up what he wanted to say, but he preferred the feel of a pen across paper. Plus, his handwriting truly belonged to a doctor and he was pretty sure the guy picking up his shift was new. Dr. Emile Picani, he thinks. Jack was not going to make the newbie’s job easier, at any rate. He began to write.

Doctor’s Notes: _Patient displays normal speech and behavior patterns. He displays a remarkable awareness of his situation and is aware that his ‘hallucinations’ are not real. These ‘hallucinations’ first appeared long before the patient was of the correct age range to develop Schizophrenia Spectrum Disorder. He has not displayed evidence of delusional thinking. The patient does not appear to show remorse for his actions, instead ensuring that he will not be blamed for his wrongdoings. This, coupled with the patient’s reported violent tendencies, is evidence that he suffers from Antisocial Personality Disorder, which is my preliminary diagnosis pending further observation._


End file.
